


Catty Corner

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Mystrade Story Times [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ADHD, Beardcroft, Body Image, Greg's a mess, Greg's kinda an exhibitionist, I'm indulging all my soft Mycroft kinks here, Inspired by a twitter post, Jellybean Mycroft, M/M, Mycroft has glasses, Mystrade Story Time, Mystrade with cats!, Rated T for language, Seriously he's a menace at large, Shy Mycroft, T rating now includes references to sex, alternating pov, but a soft boi, chubby!mycroft, courting cats, meet cute, nothing graphic, pet-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-01-31 19:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Mycroft's beloved cat, Dandy, becomes fixated on a cat across the alley. Soon Mycroft's enraptured by their courtship. He's not the only one. Before long notes begin to appear in the window across the way. Mycroft finds himself drawn into a cautious courtship from the anonymity of his flat. When the other cat's owner makes a bold move it panics Mycroft, and he withdraws.When he finds the courage to reach out, he discovers the enchantingly charming Greg Lestrade, Hot Mess Extraordinaire.





	1. Mycroft & Dandy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/gifts).



> Thank you from the bottom of my heat to Luke (tryingtomystrade), who enthusiastically encouraged me to write this, and to all my mutuals who cheered me on as I wrote this Mystrade Story Time on Twitter last night. I'm posting the existing part (with minor additions) as two chapters. There is a third chapter to come, from the point of view of Alfie.

Sometime after his thirty-fifth birthday, Mycroft had decided that he was tired of coming home to an empty flat. His last relationship had been so long ago that he'd nearly forgotten the man's name. Well, not literally.  _ Unfortunately _ . 

 

Rather than embark on an unwise quest for the perfect man--who surely did not exist, and if he existed, did not live in London, and if he  _ did _ live in London probably wasn't gay--Mycroft got a cat. 

 

He was a very handsome cat. A gentle Tuxedo named Dandy, who loved potted shrimp nearly as much as he loved Mycroft. Why, wondered Mycroft, hadn't he the good sense to adopt an animal before? Rather than chasing unsatisfying love, he came home to Dandy twining about his ankles and chirruping anxiously at the sight of him. It was glorious. He felt valued, loved.

 

"He just loves that you can open his tins of expensive moggy food, Myc, really," His mother had sniffed in disdain when she last visited. "If you must be gay could you at least not be a stereotype? A sad middle-aged man living with his cat."

 

Stung, Mycroft wanted to lash out. Experience, however, was a wise teacher, and he'd learned not to react to her barbs. "More tea?" He'd offered mildly, and gave her his blandest smile. Really, it was a relief that his parents rarely visited. Sometimes he almost succeeded in carrying on his life as if he had none. More than one colleague had been surprised to hear him refer to his parents in the present tense. He rather suspected they thought them both dead. In many ways, to him, they were. 

 

Life was far more pleasant when it was just him. Just he and Dandy. Two bachelors alone in London.

 

A recent promotion at work had meant a significant rise in pay, and Mycroft had celebrated by moving out of the flat he'd lived in for far too long and relocating to a more pleasant neighborhood. As yet he knew none of his neighbors. Nor did he expect to. London wasn't a village. Still, he liked the brisk walk to work, the variety of cuisines available, the cosy pub on the corner, the peaceful park down the road 

 

Even the view from his front window wasn't bad. A pre-war building with attractive architecture stood across the alley from him, many of the tall windows lined with flowers. The pavement was lined with London plane trees, which cast a cool shadow in the spring sunshine. From where he perched on the broad windowsill, Dandy would watch with interest the flittings of birds in and out of the trees. Pedestrians were nearly as interesting to him.

 

Sometimes, if Mycroft arrived home while it was still light, he would sit on the window sill next to Dandy and comment on the life which passed below them. He made plans for taking Dandy to the park on his lead on Saturdays, and discussed which flowers to plant in his window box. Dandy was an interested listener, luminous yellow-green eyes fixed intently on Mycroft's face, watching him as he spoke. From time to time he would let out a soft rumble or an inquiring, "Mrrp?" as if to spur Mycroft on.    
  
He could only imagine what Mummy would make of it.

 

Mycroft didn't pay much attention to the building opposite, being more drawn to the foot traffic. He liked to observe the parade of humanity. People were often puzzling to him, but they fascinated him nonetheless. He wondered if this was how Dandy felt, an outsider looking in. Or an insider looking out, in this case. 

 

At first, Dandy seemed equally as happy as he to merely watch the people passing. But one evening after he'd returned home, as Mycroft stood in his tiny kitchen trying to convince himself to cook an omelet rather than order in, Dandy startled him by letting out a loud and plaintive meow. "Hush," he said absently, fingering the menu for Siam Palace, "You've plenty of food in your bowl. You don't need another treat."

 

Dandy meowed again, pacing agitatedly along the sill, rubbing his side insistently on the glass. So insistent was he, that Mycroft finally abandoned the menu (and his virtuous insistence on cooking) and crossed the room. "What is it?" he asked, feeling absurdly like a character on Lassie.

 

Dandy looked up at him, then back at the glass, where he'd been steadfastly staring. Mycroft parted the horrid plastic blinds--which Dandy had already bent--and peered out, scanning the pavement. He didn't see anything, so switched his attention to the trees. No birds, squirrels or other wildlife to so upset his darling. Smoothing his hand soothingly over Dandy's sleek head, Mycroft asked again, "What is it?"

 

Dandy chirped, and twined in a tight figure eight, bumping him with his head. Pressing his moist pink nose to the glass, he meowed again. Loudly.

 

"For heaven's sake," Mycroft was amused, "What is it?”

 

Dandy half-rose on his hind legs, patting an insistent paw against the glass. Mycroft looked again, and just then had his attention drawn by movement on the third storey. Or rather, at the window of a flat on level with his, and catercorner to his own.

 

It was a fluffy marmalade. "Is that all it is?" Mycroft asked with fond amusement. He scritched behind Dandy's ear, "Have you made a friend?"

 

Dandy bent his head obligingly toward Mycroft's hand, but kept his eyes on the other cat. He let out a soft mewl & Mycroft chuckled, moving away. "Dinner time,” he said, picking up his mobile and dialling Siam Palace. "Shall I order the shrimp? You always like that."

 

Dandy ignored him; Dandy even ignored the shrimp (although he would no doubt devour it later). Mycroft shrugged and picked up his book; Dandy would get bored eventually. 

 

\------------------------------

 

Dandy did not get bored. He became obsessed, sitting in the window at all hours, peering intently across the street. Mycroft learned to leave the blinds open, otherwise he would be woken at odd hours to untangle his indignant and fixated cat. 

 

He became used to falling asleep to lovesick yowls. Mycroft had to admit that his darling had very good taste. The marmalade cat was quite handsome, sitting in majestic, fluffy state on his own windowsill, gazing across the distance between them.

 

When Dandy put up a paw and had it mirrored by the marmalade, Mycroft  _ might _ have squealed just a little before he took a shaky video.  _ Oh god,  _ he thought, _ I  _ am  _ turning into a sad middle-aged gay man living with his cat. _ Still, he was becoming quite invested in his cat's courtship. As the weeks went on, he wondered if the other cat owner had noticed their own pet's equal fixation. Once or twice he'd glimpsed a shadowy figure in the background, but not enough to make out details, or even a gender. For all he knew, it could be a family and he was seeing different people each time.

 

On Saturdays, when he took Dandy out for a walk through the neighborhood and down to the small park nearby, Mycroft took to looking about, just in case he saw the marmalade. Unlikely, he conceded, most cats weren't leash-trained. Still, he was becoming a bit interested despite himself.

 

A sign, no doubt, that he had no life of his own. Still, there were worse ways to pass his leisure time than witnessing his cat's courtship.

  
  


                                                                                                             -------------------------

  
  


Mycroft wasn't sure how long the note had been there. It had been an interminable week and he'd come home late every night of the past four. On Wednesday he managed to make it home by ten. Eating cold Pot Noodles directly out of the cup, Mycroft wandered his flat in his bare feet. He was feeling restless, too keyed up from work to face sleep, yet too mentally exhausted to seek refuge in reading. Too bad he didn't own a television, it would be perfect for zoning out Pulling up music on his phone he came to stand by the window behind Dandy and absently watched the lights of passing cars. He nearly turned away and missed the note.

 

At least, he  _ thought _ it was a note. It was a rectangular piece of white paper which may or may not have had writing on it. Curious. Unable to read the message (if it  _ was _ a message), Mycroft finally gave it up and went to bed.

 

Morning came soon enough and he nearly forgot about it. As he passed to bid Dandy farewell, he recalled the note. Peering out the window he was relieved to see the blinds were still up. Though thinking about it, they had been up for quite a few days. Hmm. Perhaps the marmalade's owner had seen the cats staring at one another so intently and obliged. 

 

They had, it appeared. The note was scrawled with a heavy black marker.

 

**HI I'M ALFIE. WHAT'S YOUR NAME?**

 

A perfectly ridiculous sense of excitement overtook Mycroft, who snatched up Dandy and did a little twirl around the sitting room. When he made his displeasure known, Mycroft laughed and kissed his nose, "Sorry darling, forgot you can't read. This is...exciting."

 

"Mrr?" asked Dandy. Mycroft deposited him gently back on the sill. 

 

"Your boyfriend's name is Alfie. He's inquiring after yours. Shall we answer?"

 

Giving in entirely to the ridiculousness, Mycroft actually waited a moment. When he didn't receive a response he laughed at himself but penned a reply.

 

Hurrying off to work--for which he was now unforgivably late--Mycroft felt a surprising amount of investment in this silly thing. At least Alfie's owner appeared to have a sense of whimsy or they--he? she?--wouldn't have written to begin with.

 

The day was annoyingly long and boring--not a patch on the brewing cat romance at his. In a n act of madness, Mycroft actually skipped lunch at noon in favour of running home to check if there had been a reply.

 

There had.

 

**NICE TO MEET YOU, DANDY. SUITS YOU. YOU'RE VERY HANDSOME.**

 

Mycroft very nearly preened until he caught himself. "He means you," he said to Dandy.   Of  _ course _ the writer meant Dandy. Silly. "Silly old Myc," he could hear Mummy sigh and flinched at the memory. 

 

Mycroft propped his answer in the window and returned to work. Although he was too dedicated to shirk his duties, today he was distracted, mind on the odd correspondence which had sprung up.

 

It felt strangely, he discovered over the next week or so, like getting to know a friend. They exchanged a surprising amount of information in the short missives ostensibly from their cats. Although Mycroft still didn't know the gender or name of his neighbor. Not a glimpse had he had to indicate one way or another.

 

There was only those vague movements in the background. From a good deal of furtive peering around the edge of the window, Mycroft was almost certain it was only one resident, a man. Old or young, he didn't know. He could be any age, race or occupation. The mystery was...good. Interesting 

 

This way was safe. Just a funny little way for two strangers to communicate. Nothing serious. 

 

It...occupied his time. Diverted him. Yes, diverting, that was the word. Like a crossword puzzle or a good locked room mystery.

 

It definitely wasn't anything serious. Until Alfie's dad changed the game.

 

**WE SHOULD HAVE A PLAYDATE SOMETIME. CALL MY DAD.**

 

There followed a name and a number, bold as brass, there for anyone to see.

 

For the first time it occurred to Mycroft to wonder if anyone else was witnessing this and what they thought of it.

 

It was like a dash of cold water down his neck. What would others think of him, a man nearing forty, exchanging notes with a stranger, under the pretense that they were from his cat? They'd think him mad. Or terribly sad and dull and a bit odd.

 

Sick-- _ not _ heartsick--he went to bed.

 

\--------------------------

 

 

The note remained up in the window for two days before it finally came down. Mycroft wasn't checking. He just happened to see when he was cleaning the windows. If he also happened to be peering to see if there was anyone at home, well, no one but he and Dandy need know.

 

The next note could have been up for days, Mycroft really couldn't say. He'd stopped looking at life pass by and had done what any sane, normal man did. He bought a television. Now he could be just like everyone else and gossip around the water coolers about Game of Thrones and...and ...well, whatever else it was everyone watched.

 

He was done with fantasies. From now on he'd stick to those purely on the page or the screen. They were  _ meant _ to be an escape, not like looking forward to messages from a stranger.

 

So it was that the new note might have gone unnoticed except that Mycroft, suffering from a headache, had gone to close the blinds. Dandy would just have to deal with it for one day. Hand on the pull, Mycroft was arrested when his casual glance spied a familiar white rectangle. Heart stuttering, he bit his lip and dared to read it. 

 

**DANDY, PLEASE TELL YOUR DAD I'M SORRY. I'M NOT A WEIRDO. PROMISE. I JUST WANTED TO MEET YOU. SORRY IF I SCARED YOU OFF. FORGIVE ME?**

 

It was the first Greg--for that was his name--had broken out of the third person.

 

Hand over his light-sensitive eyes, Mycroft retreated to the bedroom, mind tumbling over it all. It wasn't until the morning that he dared to take up his phone and with trembling fingers enter the number he'd cursed himself for memorizing. Twice he nearly hung up and then--

 

"Hello?”


	2. Greg & Alfie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's never considered himself a lucky man--life's good, but he's not LUCKY--until he strikes up a flirtation with the gorgeous redhead across the alley. After he scares him off with his eagerness, Greg's pretty glum. Until, that is, his phone rings one fine Friday. Maybe his luck has changed after all.
> 
> Also, his cat might be a demon.

Lazing on his sofa in nothing but joggers, Alfie asleep on his stomach, Greg wasn't prepared for the phone call he very nearly didn't answer. It was a number he didn't recognize and he considered muting it and checking the voicemail later. 

 

Luckily he  _ did  _ answer it, because for once in his dumb life fate was on his side. A hesitant, cultured voice spoke, "Is this, erm, Greg?"

 

"You got him in one," Greg said wearily, figuring he was about to be sold better gas rates or a timeshare in the Bahamas.

 

"Oh...this is Mycroft...that is...um, Dandy's dad."

 

Greg sat up so fast he startled Alfie who dug his claws into Greg's bare stomach. Swearing, Greg flailed and cracked his elbow on the coffee table. "Buggering fuck!" he bellowed. There was a startled "Oh," and the call disconnected.

 

Biting out another curse, Greg hurried to call the number back. Glaring at his cat, he mouthed, "Foul betrayer." 

 

Alfie sprawled in the middle of the rug and licked his arse, insolent eyes on Greg. "I feed you," Greg reminded him, beginning to sweat. Christ, the line was still ringing. Was it going to go to voicemail?

 

Just as his nerves began to shriek, the same smooth voice--sounding far more way now--answered.

 

"It's Greg," he hurried to say, "sorry about that, my bastard cat clawed me. I--um, did you say your name was Mike or...?"

 

"Mycroft," he enunciated crisply. It was hot as fuck, that perfect, smooth diction. 

 

"Mycroft, right. Sorry. I'm, shit, glad you called, yeah." Grinning, Greg ran a hand up the back of his neck and ruffled his hair, full of nervous energy. "You...got my note, huh?"

 

"The apology, yes."

 

"I really am sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

 

"I wasn't...scared.”

 

"Not  _ scared," _ Greg hurried to say, afraid he'd offended him. "But...I'm...a bit much, sometimes. For some people." He grimaced, remembering all the times he'd been accused of being ‘too heavy’ by ex-boyfriends.

 

Too loud, too boisterous, too eager said all his teachers.  _ Tone it down, _ his mum used to tell him gently.  _ You don't have to be best friends right away, Greggy. _

 

Gnawing at his lip, Greg waited for Mycroft to speak.

 

"I'm often accused of being too reserved," he said, "Perhaps--we're suited.”

 

Greg's heart took off again. He was grinning like a loon. Unable to cage his energy, he leapt to his feet and did a little boogie. Alfie gave him an affronted look and stalked over to the window to jump up and moon over Dandy. "'m cat's gone on yours.”

 

"Gone?" Mycroft sounded bewildered.

 

"Yeah, he's nuts over him. Sits at the window all day and stares like he can summon him." Greg squinted at Alfie, "Maybe he can. Suspect he's part demon."

 

This startled a laugh out of Mycroft, "Oh? That would be momentous indeed.”

 

"If any cat could manage it, Alfie'd be the one." Worried he'd given Mycroft the wrong impression and that he wouldn't want anything to do with Alfie  _ or _ Greg, he amended, "He's a love, though."

 

"It is the nature of cats to bedevil and beguile us.”

 

Greg chuckled, "They do that alright." The line was friendly with smiles. Always one to strike while the iron was hot, Greg said brightly, "So...when can we meet?"

 

"Meet?" Mycroft's tone was startled. 

 

Greg kicked himself for rushing again. "The cats," he joked, "We can't keep them apart like this. 's cruel."

 

Mycroft laughed and Greg relaxed. "Star-crossed lovers are fine for Shakespeare but I wouldn't want to stand between Dandy and happiness."

 

"So...coffee? In the park?"

 

"Well..."

 

Please say yes! "I swear I'm not a nutter," Greg said earnestly, "I'm a cop--eight years with the Met."

 

"W-when were you thinking?"

 

"Now?" Greg didn't wait for an answer but shimmied out of his joggers, ready to dash for the shower. He tripped over the joggers still puddled around his feet.

 

"Greg?!" Mycroft's voice sounded tinnily from the speaker. 

 

Greg shook off his momentary shock and grabbed the phone, "Hey!"

 

"Are you alright?"

 

"Yeah, great. Why?"

 

"There was a crash and...shouting.”

 

"Oh yeah, I uh, fell." Greg rubbed his nose, hoped Mycroft hadn't been watching him through the window. He sighed gustily, "Listen, I uh...gotta tell you something."

 

Mycroft's, "Oh?" was troubled.

 

"I'm...a mess. Seriously, I spill things and I fall over shite. Can't tell you how many mobiles I've lost. I fall  _ up _ the stairs at work at least once a week." Greg closed his eyes, and in a rush confessed, "I'm also forty-two, I dunno how to cook, I forget birthdays and sometimes I use my trousers as a napkin."

 

The silence was so absolute that he pulled the phone away. The line was engaged. He jerked the phone to his ear when he realized Mycroft had begun to speak. "--eg, I think we should meet for coffee this afternoon."

 

Greg was ecstatic, "Yeah?"

 

Mycroft's voice was warm with laughter, "Before you do yourself a mischief."

 

"Fair play," Greg smiled at his toes. "Hey...?"

 

"Yes?”

 

"Got something else to confess."

 

"Dare I ask?" But Mycroft's voice was almost...fond.

 

"I know who you are," hearing how that sounded, he rushed on, "I've seen you about the neighborhood, I mean."

 

"Have you?" Mycroft's voice went flat.

 

"Yeah, I mean, I noticed you before I knew you were Dandy's dad. Saw you in the café down the road. You come in most Sundays. I like it there…unwind from the work week, have an espresso, read the papers..."

 

"Ah." Mycroft's tone was impossible to parse.

 

"Couldn't help notice a gorgeous redhead.”

 

"...gorgeous?" Mycroft sounded bewildered.

 

"Yeah, tall bloke with a beard and reading glasses," Greg said, sure it was Mycroft. He'd seen him out walking Dandy on the weekends. "You get a London Fog when the weather's nasty. A decaf green if it's sunny."

 

He finally spoke, "I'm not... _ that." _

 

"What?"

 

Mycroft's voice dropped, "Gorgeous. I'm...ordinary. Plain."

 

"You favour a navy tweed on the weekends, carry a brolly to work. Walk Dandy on a green lead in the park every fine Saturday. That's you, right?"

 

"Y-yes."

 

"Gorgeous," Greg said firmly.

 

Mycroft's voice was soaked with embarrassment, "You must need glasses."

 

"Nope," Greg was aggressively cheerful. "20-20 vision my last physical." His tone went teasing, "Face it, you're gorgeous, gorgeous."

 

"Please don't...tease." The fragility in Mycroft's voice, the wobble, broke his heart. "I'm not--I don't--this sort of banter is new to me."

 

Greg dug his fingers into the rug, "'m not joking, Mycroft. I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His sincerity must have resonated, because Mycroft was silent, his swallow audible. "Beautiful," he repeated. "And I can't wait to meet you face to face and get to know you. These past coupla weeks...exchanging notes, it made me want to run right over and bang on your door. But that's the sort of thing I did that ran people off. I wanted it to be different with you.”

 

"Why?" the raw quality of the question said so much.

 

"Cos you're different." Greg spoke simply. "Don't wanna scare you off. That's why I told you all the bad stuff. I'm forgetful and messy and accident prone.”

 

"I'm phlegmatic, hide bound and really quite dull."

 

"A dull man wouldn't name his cat Dandy, or exchange notes via the window."

 

"I just bought my first television at age thirty-seven and I still haven't turned it on."

 

"I eat crisps in bed."

 

"I carry an umbrella even when rain isn't forecast.”

 

"I once ate a tadpole on a dare."

 

"My family's nickname for me was Granddad."

 

"I pretend it's my birthday to get free cake in restaurants."

 

"I refuse to separate my Kitkats & instead take a bite from the whole."

 

"I only own two ties."

 

"I don't know how to drive a car.”

 

"I'm a Gryffindor."

 

"I'm a Hufflepuff."

 

"I once accidentally traveled to Denmark thinking I was going to Amsterdam."

 

"I don't know what 'yeet' means."

 

"Mycroft,  _ nobody _ knows what yeet means."

 

They were laughing now. Greg had kicked off his killer joggers and stretched out naked on the floor. He was grinning foolishly at the ceiling. The rather hard to see ceiling, he now realized. Looking at the time on his phone he was astounded to see it was after dark. "Wow, didn't realize how long we'd been on the phone. Bit late for coffee now."

 

"Oh. Of c-”

 

Greg's voice was warm, "So how about I take you out to dinner?"

 

"D-dinner?"

 

"You like Siam Palace?"

 

"Sia..." Mycroft sighed out a laugh. "Greg, I  _ love _ Siam Palace. And I'd love to have dinner with you."

 

"Yeah?" Greg rolled over and buried his face in his arms. He couldn't stop grinning, "Brilliant."

 

"Yes," Mycroft was soft, smiling, it soaked his voice palpably. Greg suddenly couldn't wait to see him smile in person, up close. "It is brilliant."

 

"I should...shower. Stuff."

 

"Dare I leave you alone? Or will you slip in the tub?"

 

"Bit soon to join me," Greg flirted.

 

"Scamp," Mycroft said fondly. "Meet you downstairs in half an hour? I shan't recognize you. You're still a man of mystery to me."

 

"I won't be for long," Greg promised, rising to his feet, grinning ear to ear.


	3. Mating Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse into Alfie & Dandy's minds, and a peek at Greg and Mycroft's happiness. Finally, the cats meet.

The big kitten has at last acquired a mate. This one is large and soft and warm. He moves slowly and doesn't make sudden movement which might startle a cat and rob him of his dignity. He smells of Other. I am curious but as yet have not met the Other. 

 

The soft one has a lap perfect for napping on, but I must fight the big kitten for it. He’s very fond of draping himself across his mate. They rub noses and rumble often. I’ve taken to sleeping in the sunny patch on the floor in front of the window. That is, when I am not staring across the chasm at my beloved. He is the most beautiful of cats (after myself) and my longing for him is great. Someday I will affect an escape and seek him out.

 

It has been many sleeps since the big kitten brought the soft one to our den for the first time but so far he only stays for a short time, never overnight. I’ve never seen animals so slow to mate. They are clearly enamoured of one another and should waste no time in setting up house together. Then I could meet the Other, who has a most intriguing smell. I’m quite fond of sniffing the soft jumpers of the soft one, who not only smells of the Other, but of places I’ve never been, and of food. He doesn’t slip me pieces of good things to eat, however, and even fussed mildly at the big kitten when he was cooking them a meal and the big kitten put Bacon in my bowl.

 

The big kitten is a fool but he knows the proper way to honour a god.

 

Hungry now that I’ve thought of Bacon, I trot over to my bowl, which fills by magic and with a slightly disquieting whoosh. I admit I was not certain as to the suitability of this device when first it was brought into our den, but now I can say with assurance that it is good. Anything which feeds me is good. 

 

It is not Bacon though.

 

I eat a few pieces of the dry food the big kitten insists on feeding me daily. It is acceptable; also, if I desire something more suited to my magnificence I have only to trill pathetically and show him my belly. He is powerless before the belly, as are all humans. I’ll even permit a discreet amount of rubbing before I use my claws to remind him who is King. Dignity must be maintained.

 

This is the first time they have spent all day in the den. Usually they come and go, smelling of Outside, spending time here but often out on adventures. I used to have Adventures before the big kitten found me. Adventures are very exciting, but being warm and dry and fed is much more suited to my tastes. Still, I miss Adventures sometimes.

 

I sit and gaze across the chasm at my beloved, who gazes coyly back. Behind me I can hear soft gasping sounds. When first I heard them I ran to investigate, but it proved to be the odd sounds which the big kitten and the soft one make when they are mating. It certainly took them long enough. I thought the big, dumb kitten would never claim his beloved.

  
  


*************************

  
  


Greg pressed soft, open mouthed kisses to Mycroft’s chest, rumbling happily. He adored Mycroft’s soft bulk, his warmth, the crisp softness of his abundant chest hair. He was crazy about his shy passion, his drugging kisses and wonderful hugs, the way he always seemed to smell of tea, fresh-baked bread, and starched cotton. Bringing Mycroft’s hand to his lips, Greg worshipped his fingers slowly, brushing his lips over the ink stain on Mycroft’s calloused right middle finger. Mycroft huffed a soft laugh, his belly bouncing slightly under Greg’s chin. “You’re a very odd fellow.”

 

“I am,” Greg agreed, grinning up at him. “Suspect you like it, though.”

 

“I do,” Mycroft sighed, and urged him up his body. Greg straddled him, sheet puddling around his thighs. Despite his extreme interest in Mycroft’s very lovely naked form, he’d rather exhausted his reserves with their first bout of lovemaking. Give him an hour and he’d see about renewing that flush in Mycroft’s cheeks and disordering his curls still further. Leaning down, he hummed contentedly, brushing his clean-shaven cheek over the velvet-bristle of Mycroft’s beautifully groomed beard. Mycroft kissed him sweetly, resting his hands on Greg’s lower back. “I’m inordinately fond of you.”

 

“I can work with  _ fond,” _ Greg teased. It had only been two months since they’d had their first date and while normally that might seem like the blink of an eye, he’d never had such an instant connection with another man. It had only taken him a week to rather impetuously blurt out that he loved Mycroft. Mycroft had blushed a brilliant shade of plum and looked at him with shining eyes. His own  _ I love you _ had been soft but heartfelt. They’d retired to Mycroft’s bed and made love for the first time, soft and sweet and urgent. It had only grown more wonderful with time. Greg wasn’t entirely sure what to do with this much happiness.

 

“We’ve got an audience again,” Mycroft murmured a while later, when Greg had rolled onto his side to give his forty-two year old knees a break. Greg lifted his head from Mycroft’s chest but didn’t stop lounging half on his lover. Alfie was glaring at them from the doorway.

 

“What do you want, you menace?” Greg asked fondly, tapping enticing fingers on the bed. Alfie sat on his haunches, curling his fluffy tail around his feet and regarded them through narrowed eyes. “You’ve got food, go ‘way,” Greg muttered, burying his face in Mycroft’s delicious chest.

 

“Perhaps he feels neglected.”

 

“If he did he’d come join us and demand attention. No, I suspect it’s tea time and he’s wondering where his bacon is.”

 

Mycroft’s stomach rumbled and Greg slid up the bed, bestowing a warm kiss on him, “Aw, are you hungry too, love?” He nibbled on Mycroft’s lower lip, “Want me to make us something?”

 

“I could do with a nibble,” Mycroft admitted, not letting him go. “But I find myself with another sort of hunger…”

 

Greg glowed, “You insatiable bastard.”

  
  


***************

 

Dandy trilled happily when he heard the key in the door. Father was home! Rising from his snooze on the sofa back, he stretched luxuriously and dropped lightly to the ground. When Father opened the door, Dandy was there to greet him. “Hello darling boy,” Father purred, stooping to run an adoring hand over his back. Spine arching in pleasure, Dandy sniffed at his shoes, sussing out where he had been. Ah, he’d been with his mate and the mysterious cat.

 

“Were you lonely?” Father asked, rubbing softly under Dandy’s chin, just where he liked it best. Chest rumbling in a purr, Dandy let his eyes slit close, accepting the apology for leaving him alone. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home all day. I’m afraid I rather selfishly chose to see Greg after work. But I’ve a surprise for you.”

 

There was a rapid tap of fingers at the open door and Father’s mate stood smiling down at them, “Hullo Dandy my fine fellow.” He stepped inside, a box like Dandy’s in his hand. Dandy went alert at the smell of the mystery cat. “Brought you a playmate.”

 

Dandy retreated behind Father’s legs and watched with cautious excitement as the door was opened. For a moment there was not even movement in the shadowed depths of the box and then--

 

A most beautiful sight appeared. It was his adored one! Dandy let out an inquiring _mrrp_ and the beautiful form of his longed for darling went still before the other cat crossed the rug like a streak and wound his body sinuously around Dandy’s quivering form. Dandy, overcome, dropped to his side like a puddle of black and white silk, purring madly. Brimming with affection and delight, the two cats rubbed their faces together, spreading their scent over the other. Dandy’s paws--claws carefully sheathed--curled around the front leg of his darling and he let out another plaintive meow of excitement.

 

Twining together on the rug, the two cats ignored the men smiling down at them. Indeed, it would be a very long time before either of them paid the rest of the world any mind. It was alright though, their fathers certainly understood the urge.


End file.
